(quick disclaimer, this is a pigeon story, but i think it still fits this section)
The day was bright and cold, and my birds were making the best of it. The whole flock flying together, rolling, swooping and diving about in the light wind. With deadly speed and precision a falcon hit one of my rollers, Elliot from above and behind. The two vanished from view. Several tense minutes later the falcon reappeared and flew to the top a near by tree, with no bundle of feathers clutched in its tallons.
I Couldent help conjuring up the mental image of poor Elliot all torn up on the forest floor, possibly still alive. So I started searching. Under the bit of sky where they collided, under the tree the raptor was still sitting in, and the adjacent areas. No sign of my Ellie girl though, not a feather or drop of blood.
When I locked in my flock at dusk, there was still no sign of her in the loft. Not that I expected there to be. I only had 10 birds, so her absence from the group was glaringly obvious. I gave up on her then, the odds of her having survived the attack, AND surviving the night wounded in the woods, with predators abound was pretty much nil.
Around noon the next day, I went to clean the loft, and upon opening the door, discovered Elliot standing on one of the nest shelfs. She was standing erect, eyes bright, head bobbing. I had to do a double take before I picked her up to examine. I noticed before picking her up that a swatch of her chest feathers was standing away from the rest. I gently prodded the feathers to the side and couldent help letting loose a small gasp. There was a huge, deep hole in her chest. How deep is deep? I saw vertabre, which one is NOT suppost to be able to see on a living creature. I guessed that the impact from behind caused the chest to rip open.
Feeling a little weak kneed, I took advantage of the handy fact that my land lord/neighbor is a vet. He said he coulden't believe she was alive. He didn't think she would make it through the night. I told him she'd already made it through one, and that gave me enough hope not to put her down. He half heartedly dabbed some super glue around it while i held her still.
I put her in a cage indoors with food and water. At first, I was worried she wouldent eat or drink, but it wasnt a problem. I had to re fill her water bowl several times a day because it was disapearing so fast. i was also reassured when i saw a little puddle of water she must have splashed from the bowl. If I haddent seen the wound, I woulden't believe there was anything wrong with her, the way she walked around, ate, fluttered her wings and even preened herself, reaching and twisting waaay back to get her tail feathers. She made it through the first night, and the second with flying colors. The third day I took out the trey under the the cage to clean it. Under the layer of puddle dotted cardboard, was a bunch of green water. I was breifly mystified, until I happened to see her take a drink. She stuck her beak in to the water and gulped urgently. When She straitened back up, the water just ran back out of her chest. I felt my stomach hit the floor. No wonder she was going through water so fast! I had assumed the dampish patch around the wound was blood, discharge and super glue. I knew then that her crop had been badly punctured, and the glue had not been enough to hold her together.
I needed to figure out how to get her hydrated. I knew she most likely wouldent last long on the amount of liquid she was getting. But how I could stop it from falling right back out? I thought about trying to hold her neck strait and dropper feed her water but, I was worried she would aspirate if she was on her back. Then I realized, water fell out of her, but food didnt. Her feed was vanishing and not building up under the cardboard. I decided to soak her seeds over night, and by morning they were plump with moisture. She loved them! the same day, she stopped trying drink any water from her dish.
She continued to recover beautifully for the next sevral weeks. I kept her inside and away from the flock for three weeks so no one would pick on her, and to have her in a semi sterile environment to decrease the risk of infection. I let her spouse Julian visit several times during this period, but saddly, he moved on during her road to recovery. He became infatuated with a homing pigeon gal named Syd, and they quickly had a nest and eggs.
When she had stopped leaking, and was well enough to return home, she discovered his betrayal. She was overjoyed to see him and flew immidiatly flew to what had once been their nest shelf to kiss and nuzzle him. Her affections were returned with visious bites and wing slaps. She followed Julian and Syd everywhere, and eventually they both ignored her presence. Dispite the cold shoulder, Elliot continued to improve, first flying to the top our house and near by trees, and eventually flying and playing, in the sky with her flock-mates. When I told my vet about her recovery, he was amazed. She had really beaten the odds. I called her my Miracle Bird.
But all good things must come to an end. About a month after being reunited with her family, a falcon spooked the flock while they were out for a fly. They scattered and flew off in ones and twos. In a few hours, everyone had returned unharmed. Except for Elliot. I never saw her again. I like to think that it was worth the pain of loosing her lover, to grow a little older, perhaps with more appreciation of the world, to fly free with her family just a little while longer. I didnt expect her to survive. i was thrilled that her will to live proved me wrong.
The day was bright and cold, and my birds were making the best of it. The whole flock flying together, rolling, swooping and diving about in the light wind. With deadly speed and precision a falcon hit one of my rollers, Elliot from above and behind. The two vanished from view. Several tense minutes later the falcon reappeared and flew to the top a near by tree, with no bundle of feathers clutched in its tallons.
I Couldent help conjuring up the mental image of poor Elliot all torn up on the forest floor, possibly still alive. So I started searching. Under the bit of sky where they collided, under the tree the raptor was still sitting in, and the adjacent areas. No sign of my Ellie girl though, not a feather or drop of blood.
When I locked in my flock at dusk, there was still no sign of her in the loft. Not that I expected there to be. I only had 10 birds, so her absence from the group was glaringly obvious. I gave up on her then, the odds of her having survived the attack, AND surviving the night wounded in the woods, with predators abound was pretty much nil.
Around noon the next day, I went to clean the loft, and upon opening the door, discovered Elliot standing on one of the nest shelfs. She was standing erect, eyes bright, head bobbing. I had to do a double take before I picked her up to examine. I noticed before picking her up that a swatch of her chest feathers was standing away from the rest. I gently prodded the feathers to the side and couldent help letting loose a small gasp. There was a huge, deep hole in her chest. How deep is deep? I saw vertabre, which one is NOT suppost to be able to see on a living creature. I guessed that the impact from behind caused the chest to rip open.
Feeling a little weak kneed, I took advantage of the handy fact that my land lord/neighbor is a vet. He said he coulden't believe she was alive. He didn't think she would make it through the night. I told him she'd already made it through one, and that gave me enough hope not to put her down. He half heartedly dabbed some super glue around it while i held her still.
I put her in a cage indoors with food and water. At first, I was worried she wouldent eat or drink, but it wasnt a problem. I had to re fill her water bowl several times a day because it was disapearing so fast. i was also reassured when i saw a little puddle of water she must have splashed from the bowl. If I haddent seen the wound, I woulden't believe there was anything wrong with her, the way she walked around, ate, fluttered her wings and even preened herself, reaching and twisting waaay back to get her tail feathers. She made it through the first night, and the second with flying colors. The third day I took out the trey under the the cage to clean it. Under the layer of puddle dotted cardboard, was a bunch of green water. I was breifly mystified, until I happened to see her take a drink. She stuck her beak in to the water and gulped urgently. When She straitened back up, the water just ran back out of her chest. I felt my stomach hit the floor. No wonder she was going through water so fast! I had assumed the dampish patch around the wound was blood, discharge and super glue. I knew then that her crop had been badly punctured, and the glue had not been enough to hold her together.
I needed to figure out how to get her hydrated. I knew she most likely wouldent last long on the amount of liquid she was getting. But how I could stop it from falling right back out? I thought about trying to hold her neck strait and dropper feed her water but, I was worried she would aspirate if she was on her back. Then I realized, water fell out of her, but food didnt. Her feed was vanishing and not building up under the cardboard. I decided to soak her seeds over night, and by morning they were plump with moisture. She loved them! the same day, she stopped trying drink any water from her dish.
She continued to recover beautifully for the next sevral weeks. I kept her inside and away from the flock for three weeks so no one would pick on her, and to have her in a semi sterile environment to decrease the risk of infection. I let her spouse Julian visit several times during this period, but saddly, he moved on during her road to recovery. He became infatuated with a homing pigeon gal named Syd, and they quickly had a nest and eggs.
When she had stopped leaking, and was well enough to return home, she discovered his betrayal. She was overjoyed to see him and flew immidiatly flew to what had once been their nest shelf to kiss and nuzzle him. Her affections were returned with visious bites and wing slaps. She followed Julian and Syd everywhere, and eventually they both ignored her presence. Dispite the cold shoulder, Elliot continued to improve, first flying to the top our house and near by trees, and eventually flying and playing, in the sky with her flock-mates. When I told my vet about her recovery, he was amazed. She had really beaten the odds. I called her my Miracle Bird.
But all good things must come to an end. About a month after being reunited with her family, a falcon spooked the flock while they were out for a fly. They scattered and flew off in ones and twos. In a few hours, everyone had returned unharmed. Except for Elliot. I never saw her again. I like to think that it was worth the pain of loosing her lover, to grow a little older, perhaps with more appreciation of the world, to fly free with her family just a little while longer. I didnt expect her to survive. i was thrilled that her will to live proved me wrong.
